


inebriated

by luxettenebrae



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Conflict, Conflict Resolution, Declarations Of Love, Drabble, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Light suicidal ideation, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Romance, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxettenebrae/pseuds/luxettenebrae
Summary: Leviathan finds himself, for once, outside of his room and pathetically slumped over in a bar, drunk and sorrowful. You come to find him, even though you’re the last person he wants to see right now.Resolving misunderstandings is never easy, even and especially misunderstandings of one’s self.
Relationships: Leviathan & Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Leviathan/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 106





	inebriated

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for light mention of suicidal ideation/thoughts!  
> Ah, I'm sorry that it's been so long... It's been roughly a month since my last published work. Even though I have works finished, I've been struggling with certain thoughts and not creating very much, so I've felt that I no longer have the confidence to share my work.  
> But here I am, so here we go again. Mind you, I wrote this over a month ago, before I stopped doing creative pursuits. I just brushed it up and edited it a bit today so it would feel a little more ready to be shared.  
> I'm not sure I've mentioned this before, but I see myself in Leviathan so much that it's scary. It's one reason I love his character so much; it allows me to explore and project and delve into him so much more because I understand him (or at least, I feel that I do-everyone has their own understandings of characters). So, the dialogue here...I won't say any more.  
> Edit: oops, I completely forgot to put a summary because I published it in a hurry after needing to go somewhere. Now it’s got a summary.

Leviathan stumbled into the bar, one hand loosening his tie, and the other was held out just enough to help him keep his balance. With thudding, ungainly footsteps, he managed to shuffle across the dark wood floor. It was scratched from years of comings and goings of customers, including inebriated ones such as himself, who could hardly keep themselves upright as if gravity were pulling from all different directions instead of just below their feet. He plopped himself down onto a barstool, his eyes were unfocused, everything a drunken haze—a painful haze. Tears prickled at his eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time that night, and he thought he might be weeping burning pins and needles rather than the unfortunate, warm saline water currently flowing down his flushed cheeks. His cheeks were rosy, but there was nothing rosy about this situation. 

Defeated, he let the weight in the crushing stones of hurt drag his head down onto his carelessly folded arms on the polished counter, the pain hopping up and down his gullet, making him nauseous, making everything in this world spin round and round; it didn’t matter that his eyes were now closed and he was able to see naught but darkness because he still felt like his innards were itching to leap out his mouth, squirming inside him like banana slugs with salt dumped on them, and he could still hear the voices screaming at him, distorted and magnified by his current insobriety. Thoughts couldn’t pass through his head under the pressure of the agony erupting inside, both from the events of only an hour ago and from his ruined body begging for mercy, for relief. A thought passed through his mind. Perhaps he should give himself mercy, relief, put himself out of his misery—permanently. 

It wasn’t like Leviathan had never thought of it before. But he’d never put much stock in the possibility, being a demon, a being who was eternally damned. Knowing the futility of a permanent solution to the pain always drove him further into the aching, gaping maw of despair, its breath rank with the overripe, drooping clouds of all the time it’d been left to rot, its gums sore with all the past wounds that’d been left to fester, its teeth sharp with the hurtling weapons of self-doubt, whetted by thousands upon thousands of years and the instances and thoughts by the ton of incompetency, of being not only eternally damned to existence but being eternally damned to a hopelessly inept, worthless existence. 

From deep in the breadths of his mind, Levi could faintly hear someone talking, supposedly to him, because they were tapping his shoulder. He forced himself to lift his head from where it was plastered to his forearms and sit up—sitting up straight was too much to ask, though, so simply sitting up with his limbs propped up like a rag doll would have to do—and he turned to look at whoever it was. 

Levi struggled to focus on the blurry image in front of him; he’d had way too much to drink, and the dull pain slamming against his ribcage every time his heart pumped didn’t help the matter. Whoever it was, they were talking to him rather gently. Only one person talked to him gently at all. 

You. 

As you reached out to touch him—tap his shoulder again or put a hand to his shoulder—he jerked away reflexively, realizing who it was that had come to fetch the miserable and pathetic him from the dirty bar. He didn’t know why one of his brothers hadn’t come with you or had come in your stead—of course, not that he would have preferred that—but it wasn’t too safe for a human like you to walk around without being accompanied by one of them since Diavolo’s project of expanding and deepening the relations between three realms was still a work-in-progress and many demons hadn’t taken the most kindly to it. But you were here, and that was that. 

You were talking to him—he could discern at least that you’d said his name a few times by watching your lips move and hearing the gurgling warble of your voice through the filter of his inebriation. Everything was disjointed, not just him, but all the world around him, including you. It was maybe for the better, seeing as he had come to this bar to escape exactly the person who’d come and found him. Just looking at you reminded him of what had just happened not too long ago, and he felt the sharp tang of bitterness biting his tongue, the sensation following downward as he swallowed thickly, awkwardly. 

You probably wanted him to come home with you. That was the most likely reason for you coming here. But for the first time in thousands of years, Leviathan didn’t want to go home. 

Now, only for him to communicate that… 

“I-I’m not goin’ home,” he slurred. The words like syrup, a mucous artificial strawberry-flavored cough syrup, dripped from his lips sluggishly. 

Your eyebrows pushed toward each other. He strained to hear your words. 

“Levi, don’t be stubborn. Please, come home with me. I want to explain. It’s not what you think it is, I promise!” 

Your voice was so desperate. Ha. As if he could believe you. The only question was why he had been so injured by what should have been obvious, what should have been fact to him. He jumped off of the barstool and staggered slightly, his hands and feet like bricks, clunky and heavy. When you extended a hand to steady him, he brushed it away gruffly. 

“You don’t need to comfort me. I don’t need you to lie to me. I’m not a child.” 

Leviathan had found, somehow, the control to speak properly. He suspected it was only thanks to the adrenaline from the fresh wounds being irritated once again, from remembering what had created those wounds in the first place. All his thoughts were clunking around in his brain like hunks of useless metal. 

“I’m not lying! If you would just listen to me-” you protested. 

“Stop it!” He gripped your shoulders, glowering as he finally stared you in the face. “Just stop! I’m not that pathetic. I don’t need your pity. I-...” 

He must have been making a terrible face, or perhaps his hands had grabbed you a little too forcefully because he observed your face drop and you winced as if he had hit you. He felt his face drop, too, and he let go of you, averting his eyes and wrapping his arms around himself self-consciously. “Sorry. Just...leave me alone.” 

He could feel you staring at him. He just wanted you to leave. It was already bad enough that you’d seen him like this at all, and for you to stick around—he couldn’t imagine anything worse. 

Leviathan stumbled backward, floundering to keep his balance as you dove into his chest, your arms going around him, holding him, and suddenly, he was holding you, too. For a moment, he watched himself hold you, taken aback and unsure of what to do. What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t sober enough for this. Even if he were sober, the physical contact was always overwhelming, just a little too much or a lot too much, even if it was in a good way, in the way that he never wanted it to stop overwhelming him. 

You tilted your head up to look at him, and at such a close vantage point, he could finally notice the way your eyes were rimmed with red, a sensitive and delicate red like you’d been crying, and your bottom lip was wobbling. Leviathan was struck by the realization of how weak you were. You were just a human. And yet, you had come out and found him in the Devildom, venturing out into town and into a crowded, noisy, dingy bar that stunk of drink and grease. It was easy to forget with all that you got up to with his brothers and him in the House of Lamentation, but you were fragile, so fragile, at least in the face of demons like himself. 

“P-Please, Leviathan… Let’s go home…!” 

Finding himself at a loss for words, he acquiesced with a subdued nod. There was little else for him to do but submit to your teary request. You took his hand, which was clammy and only loosely gripped yours, and the two of you walked out the bar and down the dark, empty streets of the Devildom. Demons were up at all times, but even the streets had its quieter times. 

The wind mumbled hushed whispers, bringing its touch to his hair, to the fringes of your clothes, swinging his slack tie hanging around his neck. Leviathan shivered and sneezed in the cold. The only source of warmth was your hand. The only source of light and warmth here had only ever been you, only you. When he thought about it that way, his reaction to losing you—making a drunken, incoherent mess of himself—didn’t seem exaggerated, after all. Except, now you were here, and his lack of warmth was swallowing your warmth that he so coveted, a warmth he should instead be protecting.

“Are you cold?” Your eyes scanned him briefly before returning to the walkway in front. “We’re almost there.” 

“I know.” He hated how pitiful he sounded. Like some stray dog left on the streets. A pathetic, stray dog that you’d picked up off the streets, much less.

“Levi, can I explain, now?” 

Even if you were just a human, he didn’t have to bend over backward for you every time. 

“What is there to explain?” he commented petulantly. 

Something tugged at his hand—you had stopped walking but still were holding his hand tightly. He turned around. “Hey, what gives-?” 

“Please just listen to me for once. Instead of making assumptions.” Your watery eyes could’ve drowned him right then and there; tears were the only waters he didn’t know how to navigate, the only waters he couldn’t swim in, and especially yours. Levi stopped breathing, simply watched you. “Mammon just tripped and fell and his lips happened to touch mine. That’s all it was. That’s it. Nothing more. I promise. Everyone can vouch for it.” 

He searched your face for any signs of purposeful dishonesty, of masquerading lies as truth—but found none. He fell to his knees and immediately buried his face in his hands. He didn’t know if he’d crumpled out of shame or relief or both. Probably both. The pain inside was transforming, easing, and he felt tears prickle at his eyes again; this time, they were warm and wet, and that was all they were. Each droplet leaving him became a fluttering butterfly carrying away what had weighed him down, bit by bit.

He felt you wrap your arms around him again as you knelt beside him, and he allowed himself to lean into your embrace, pulling his hands away from his face to let his arms circle around you, and he rested his chin on your shoulder shakily. This much was okay, wasn’t it? 

“Sorry… I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m just… I just… All I am…” he stopped and started again and again, seeking the right, the aptest way to say it, what he’d always thought, always felt, always known. “I’m only…me. That’s all I am. And I…I’ve never been enough.” 

You stroked his back, and your touch was so kind he could only cry more, cry a little harder. Everything, everything was swelling inside him and pushing to get out, every child inside begging to be heard for once, just once, even once. The warmth he’d sought all his life, your warmth, began to soothe the hoarse cries of his pain with just a few touches, sinking into his aching, tired body. 

“You’ve always been enough, Leviathan. Always.” Your touch traveled up, and your fingers combed through his hair. You were warm, so warm, and not only because you were the only warmth here. “You’re enough, Leviathan. You’re more than enough. You’re the only one who tells yourself you’re not enough. Don’t you want to know the truth already? Don’t you want to tell yourself the truth? Because the truth is that you’re enough.”

He thought he might’ve stopped living for a moment as he choked on a sob, trying to still his crying. And he thought he might’ve stopped living because these words, they were never for him. They were always words for characters, for stories and deserving people, worthy beings. Not him. Never him. 

“But I-” he stammered, caught in his tears as they ran down his cheeks, trickled down his throat. “I’m just me. How could-” he gulped with a great shudder, “how could I ever be enough?” 

“Listen, Leviathan.” You paused, and the wind swept by, mellow and soothing, a honeyed accompaniment to your dulcet voice. “You’re enough because you’re you. Because you’re Leviathan.” You gently drew back, but to his surprise, you didn’t let go of him—on the contrary, your hands cupped his cheeks, and he felt his blood stir to where you were touching; he would blame it on the biting cold, even if it was milder now than before, even if he knew the true reason. But aside from your touch, your pure and sincere eyes met his own and comforted him in the way only you ever could. 

You smiled for the first time that night, and tenderness lay in the crease painted by your lips, tender in the way the moon gazed down benignly, tender in the way cozy blankets swathed, tender in the way of love, and tender in your way. “You’re only enough because you’re Leviathan. And I love you for it.” 

Rapt, he looked into your shining, wet eyes, and he tried to fathom what could be going on within them, what you could possibly be thinking as you said words foreign and bizarre to him, and yet words dear and cherished to him. Levi might not understand why you said such things, much less directed to him, but he understood their meaning, even if he doubted them by force of habit or force of nature. 

“Do you mean it?” 

The words parted from his lips, creaking and crackling as sparks and flames, more breathed than spoken, and a mere wisp of a whisper. The intimacy of those words did not separate from their being, even once brought alive into the space between you and Leviathan; if anything, they became exceedingly intimate with the freshness of existing aloud. 

“I mean it.” 

He had to search you again for untold deception and insincerity, but all he saw was a genuineness that had been expressed in the most straightforward way, by the construct of simple speech. And sometimes, simple was enough—simple was best. 

You surveyed him calmly, patiently waiting for him to process, and all at once, his eyes were opened to the fondness in your smile, your gaze, your touch. It lived in every expression and movement that belonged to you, and the novelty of discovering what should have been easy truth all along instead of grand revelation was sobering altogether. 

Hope, like the breath created by beating wings, took flight and bore life as it glided up inside his chest, up to his throat and out his mouth, a newly living companion. 

“Let’s go home.” 

He’d found an answer, an answer he hadn’t been looking for because it was an answer he thought he’d known despite its true nature being obscured by the tint of his constant self-doubt. And he hoped the question he asked as a sequel to that answer would not go without the next answer he was now looking for and hoped he knew. 

He pulled himself to his feet steadily and extended his hand to you, inviting you to answer. 

With a heartfelt, relaxed smile and once again, your fondness, you took his hand in yours again, using his now unfaltering strength and the momentum to stand. 

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...  
> This is where I put my usual spiel. But I'm a little lost right now, so it'll have to be put on a hold.  
> If you want to talk, send me a message @luxexhomines on Twitter or Tumblr.  
> Thank you if you've read it. My best wishes to you. Take care and stay safe!


End file.
